CHAPTER XXIX.
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
The sun had long since gone down, and darkness was rapidly settling over the country, as Geoffrey pursued his way, grateful indeed that he had such good news to take back to Jack, but well-nigh discouraged on his own account.
It had been agreed that he should learn all he could about Henly’s old home, and where Margery was buried, and that Jack should himself revisit the place after nightfall, upon his return, since he did not dare to make his appearance there by daylight.
The road to the town lay through a heavy growth of timber, and, as Geoffrey came into it, the darkness was so intensified that at first he could hardly distinguish the way, when, suddenly, his horse gave a startled snort and shied one side, nearly throwing his rider from the saddle.
“Gently, gently, sir,” he said, reassuringly, as he quickly recovered himself. “What is the trouble, my boy?”
He glanced searchingly about him, and saw a muffled figure sitting upon a rock under the shadow of a great tree.
Geoffrey’s hand instinctively caught the handle of the revolver that he always carried when traveling, and then he rode directly up to the figure.
“Who are you?” he demanded, “and why are you sitting here alone in the darkness?”
“Do not fear, sir,” responded a quiet, honest voice. “I am only a woman on my way home from town, and sat down here to rest for a moment.”
“I beg your pardon, madame, for accosting you as I did,” Geoffrey returned, apologetically, “but I confess I was startled, as well as my horse, for a moment. Are you not afraid to be traveling this lonely way at this time of the evening?”